Razorblade Romance
by Kinsella
Summary: The fallout from Love At First Is Blind. Please read and review!
1. Crazy

DISCLAIMER: Marvel's, even if they don't treat them right!

* * *

He remembered the first time he met her. It brought a smile to his face as he touched the back of his head. She was leaning over her microscope, her small glasses sliding down her nose. The lab coat gave the appearance she was shaped like a box. Her hair was a long ponytail down her back. She wore pink fluffy slippers.

Scott entered the lab, quietly. She hadn't realized he was there, and he moved behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, the other around her throat.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, angrily, biting his arm.

"You know what they say. All work and no play will make you…"

"A dull boy?"

"No."

"Go crazy?"

"Don't mind if I do!" Scott roared, tossing her over his shoulder and taking off in a run.

"Put me down!" Jean shrieked, beating at his back, even if she did enjoy the particularly appealing view of his muscular backside as he ran. He laughed and brushed past Kitty and Bobby standing in a doorway. Kitty's jaw dropped.

"Can he…do that to Ms. Grey?"

"That's Dr. Grey!" Jean shouted. "And no!" She was tickling his ribs as he ran, and his breath came out in chortles. He raced outside with her, into the snow and tossed her down in a snow bank. Then he trapped her beneath his powerful thighs and shoved snow in her face.

Scott fell forward as he was pummeled from behind by a large snowball. Jean laughed as he plucked snow from his hair, his face gleaming. "No fair!" he cried. "You can't use powers!"

"Oh yeah?" she asked, balling up the snow in her fist and tossing it. It bounced off his visor and slid in a puddly mess down his face.

He tackled her, landing on top of her in the snow drift. She was laughing so hard it was difficult to breath, and his heavy body on top of hers didn't help. She squirmed under him to try to get away, but stilled suddenly. He was looking at her intently, curling a piece of her red hair around his finger.

"Scott," she started. He shook his head and stood up, wiping the snow off his knees. He offered her a hand and she stood up as well.

He shrugged. "Get back to work, Ms. Grey!" he barked, but his voice lacked the playful quality he had had a second ago.

"You know what they say, Scott?" she said, a dangerous smile curving her face. "About all work and no play?"

"What?" he asked, turning around. He found himself staring up at the sky a moment later, beneath a large snowball.

"Makes you go crazy! And it's Dr. Grey," she said, laughing, as she walked back towards the mansion.

"Oh that was cute, One-eye," Rogue said, standing above him. The black of her clothes stood out in stark contrast to the white snow nad gray sky as she pulled him up. "Suave. The way to a lady's heart is to drag her away from important work, into the snow, and proceed to stuff it in her face."

"I don't see you doing any better," he gruffed, picking ice from his hair. Rogue handed him a hankerchief to wash off his visor, that had steamed in the snow.

"No, Ah prefer the Ah hate you methodology. At least, this way, Ah don't have to worry about him botherin' me."

"Who are we talking about here?" Scott asked, trudging towards the mansion. She fell into step next to him.

"Everybody. Ah hate them all." Her voice was so pleasant, he had to laugh. "What are you laughing at? Ah hate you most of all."

"Oh really?" Scott said, pausing to look at her. She stuck her hand on her hip and jutted her chin at him.

"Ye-aaaaaa!" he tackled her in the snow.

* * *

Jean watched them. She felt something black in her heart as they wrestled in the snow. Rogue was grinning wildly at him, pummeling him with snowballs. He melted them with his blasts. He chased her, trying to tackle her back in the snow. She let out a yell and ran across the yard.

They seemed a more likely couple. They were both young, attractive. They had grown closer since the Onslaught incident, a mere month ago. She rubbed her forehead, hardly believing that much time had passed. Rogue had changed quite a bit, going more goth in her look and ostracizing everyone except Scott, Kurt, and Logan. She was prone to fits of dark rages, tearing into the Danger Room with a reckless abandon, which had her tutoring under Wolverine, courtesy of the Professor, as well as undergoing therapy with him. Beast was still researching the technology of the necklace, but Jean had personally given up hope on that front. It seemed to dangerous to keep something that terrible around.

Scott had grown as a leader. Even though he was younger, the new recruits looked to him for guidance, on and off the battlefield. They had all decided to stay, except for Emma Frost. But Jean had the feeling that wasn't the last they'd see of the girl, no matter how hard she hoped. There seemed to be history with her and the Professor, and with Scott.

She had to laugh as Rogue straddled his back, one arm of Scott's twisted behind his back, grinding his face into the snow. She had a particularly vicious smile on her face, and she could hear Scott's muffled cries of "Uncle!"

"It would be okay, you know," Warren said, handing her a cup of cocoa and standing beside her. "No one would care."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, sipping daintily from the mug. It burned her tongue.

"Don't be coy, Jean Grey. You're too smart to be so dense." He tapped her head.

"I'd care." She rested her forehead against the glass with a sigh. "He hasn't even graduated, War! That's like…stagatory, or something."

Warren shrugged, "You can't help who you love Jean. God knows I wish I could," Warren said, grinning across the room at his purple tressed girlfriend. She was sharpening her sais as Bobby watched in fascinated wonder.

"Well, I wish I could run around the house in purple lingerie all day," Jean said, laughing with him.

"Mmm, I wish that too," Warren said, leaning close and waggling his eyebrows at her. A sai found it's way into the wall between them, lightening fast. Jean laughed and pulled it from the wall.

"I think you should replace this with flowers, Warren." She siad.

"Flowers? Betsy would kill me. Do you _know_ how cliched that is? No she wants sharp pointy things."

Jean laughed. The door opened and a soggy Scott walked in. Rogue was behind him, stamping snow off her boots. She made a face at Jean. "Poor baby couldn't handle the pressure," she said.

"Hey!" Scott said. "If I could bench a ton I think hold you down till you cried mercy too!" Rogue smiled innocently, a look at odds with her dark hair and makeup and clothes.

"Waa waa. Why don't you go cry about it?" Rogue snarked.

"Oh, you want round two, do you?" Scott said, puffing up his chest and pounding his fist on it. "I just didn't want to hurt a girl, but now…it's on!"

"Save it, Conan. I have work to do," Rogue said, brushing past them, rolling her eyes. Scott smiled hopefully at Jean.

"She wounds my masculinity," he said.

"That would require masculinity, Scott," Warren said.

"What would you know? You're dating She-hulk over there." The other sai lodged itself in the door behind him. He pulled it out and handed it to Warren. "Your girlfriend is a bit psycho."

Warren grimaced as a pencil found it's way into the wall. "That's why I love her!" he said, loudly. A stapler imbedded itself next to his head. "You know, if you keep doing that, Xavier's gonna make you pay to stay here!" he shouted, shaking his head. He mouthed the word 'crazy' to them, and then went running off to sit beside her. Scott whirled his finger at his temple, and Jean smothered a laugh.

"She's psychic, you know," she said. He made a face.

"Isn't everybody?"

"Well we all can't have cool I-blow-things-up-with-my-eyeballs powers now can we?" Jean said. "I have work to finish, before I was so rudely interupted." She smiled at him. It hurt to smile at him, sometimes, when she really just wanted to drag him to some dark little corner and make out with him. Betsy laughed loudly, turning her head to look at her.

"I didn't know you were such a…voyeurist, Jean Grey," she said.

Jean flicked her the finger, then turned abruptly and marched to her lab. Scott quirked an eyebrow at Betsy who shrugged innocently. He sighed, rubbing his palms on his jeans, then turned. He needed to work on his bike. Logan had been a little rough with her the other day, and he wanted to make sure she was still in good working order. He trudged through the snow, wishing he had brought a heavier jacket with him. The garage looked deserted, the lights dim and the heat off, but he heard a few rustles and clanks.

"Hello?" he asked, flipping on the bright overhead light.

"Mon ami! You tryin' to blind me?" a husky voice asked, echoing in the large expanse.

"Gambit?" he asked, incredulously.

"None other," he said, standing up and wiping his greasy hands with an equally greasy rag. He frowned at it, then tucked it into his back pocket.

"What are you doing here?"

"Xavier asked me t'come."

"Really?" Scott found it hard to believe. The mutant had a tendency to disappear for days at a time, spending more of his time away from the mansion than with the rest of the team. The time he was there, well, he flirted with the girls, poked fights with the boys, especially Logan, and tormented Rogue to no avail. This had been his longest absence yet, he had disappeared one morning six days ago.

Remy nodded. "You here t'work on Mabel?"

"Excuse me?" Scott asked. Remy jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Dat beautiful piece o' machinery. I call her Mabel."

"You…_named_…my bike?" Scott choked.

"She was just to pretty t'be Harley. I see you been lettin' Wolf Man run her into de ground. Poor baby," he mrumered, running a hand over her handlebars. "But she's as good as new now. Englebert, however…," he shook his head sadly at his bike. "He ain't so pretty, but he runs fast anyhow," he grinned mischeviously at him. "Seein' as you 'ave de 'magic touch', an' I tuned Mabel, how bout you give ol' Eng a look over?"

Scott sighed, "Yeah, I'll give Engl-your bike a look."

"T'ank you, mon ami. I know bikes, but I ain't know how t'fix 'em like you do."

"Flattery, Mr. LeBeau, will get you no where," he said, kneeling down beside Gambit's bike. It was a beatiful machine, old but reliable. It had been souped up some time ago, and had seen many miles of dust and mud, but it ran beautifully. Some things just weren't so easy to see through their misleading exteriors. He looked at Gambit. Sometimes it was just hard to see the heart of gold in the man with eyes like the devil.

* * *

"Ah hate you!" Rogue shouted. She stood at the top of the stair, a towel wrapped around her body, her hair dripping on her shoulders and the floor. "Ah will kill you!"

Bobby stood at the bottom of the stairs, guffawing, his face a brilliant shade of scarlet.

"What is going on here?" Logan demanded.

"Bobby froze the dang pipes on me, while Ah was showerin'!" Rogue shouted, her accent thick with her anger. "Ah'm gonna squeeze your neck till yoah eyes bug outta there sockets, Snow Man!" she seethed, stamping her foot.

"Rogue, for the love of God, put some clothes on. Bobby, meet me in the Danger Room," Logan demanded.

"But," Bobby said, his face dcraining of color.

"No buts."

Rogue stuck her tongue out, turned on her heel, and marched to her room. Gambit lounged against the door, arms crossed over his chest. He eyed her boldly as she walked up. She suddenly felt way to exposed in just a towel, and pulled it tighter against her chest.

"Move."

"Wow, chere, I didn't know your eyelashes were red."

"Oh mah Gawd!" Rogue shrieked, her hands flying to her face, a blush blossoming on her cheeks.

"Forget you wore no makeup?" he asked. "You look better wit'out it."

"Fuck you, Swamp Rat," she cursed. "Move."

"Maybe if you ask a little nicer," he said, leering in her face.

She waved her bare hand. "Ah have more skin exposed than Pam Anderson in a Playboy spread, so if you don't want me to suck all those deranged thoughts outta your twisted little head, you're gonna move."

"Well," he said, pushing himself off the door. "Since you asked nicely."

She growled as she breezed past him. He laughed, a hand catching at her towel. She stopped and went to slap him, then pulled her hand up. He saw the look of fear that crossed her pale features, and immediately let go. She blinked at him, her hand still hovering in the air. She sucked in a breath, letting it fall, shaking her head, causing droplets from her short hair to spray his face.

"You were lucky, Cajun," she muttered.

"Maybe in your opinion, chere, but you still wearin' dat towel now, non?"

She rolled her eyes and slammed the door in his grinning face. She slumped against it when she was shut, hating the way her heart flip flopped painfully at seeing him. She hated him. Despised him. Wished he had stayed far, far away. He smelled like cigarettes. She could think of a million reasons why she shouldn't have butterflies in her stomach. She could hear him talking to someone outside the door, his silky, seductive accent carressing her ears. She growled again, went to her radio, and blasted her music as loud as she could. Rob Zombie had a way of making her feel better.

She rummaged through her closet, pulling on a pair of black jeans, a neon green tank top, and a black, long sleeved mesh, ripped from the neck down the chest. She snapped on her spiked choker and rummaged around till she found her studded biking gloves. She finished the ensemble with her ever faithful combat boots. She brushed her short, sleek hair, pulling it up in a spiky pony tail and pinning the pieces that wouldn't fit to her head, making sure the ends stuck up. She applied her makeup, dark eyes, dark lips, pale skin. She liked the look. It made her…unapproachable. She grabbed her bag, throwing in her notebook and some lipstick.

"Rogue!" the knock came at the door. "If you don't hurry we are going to be late!"

She opened the door just as Scott had raised his hand to knock again. She scowled at him. "Where's Bobby?"

"He's in the car. Kit's in the car. Kurt's in the car. Everyone except you."

"You're not in the car," Rogue said, shouldering her bag and moving past him. She cocked her hip, staring at him. "Are you coming."

Scott unclenched his fists and followed her. She frowned at him across the front of his red convertible, then slipped into the front seat.

"Like, Rogue, I love your tank top!"

"Thanks," Rogue muttered as Kitty plucked the slinky material through the mesh.

"It really draws attention to your figure. I wish I had curves like you," the girl frowned.

"All right, already," Rogue said, slapping the girl's hand away. Scott laughed, putting the car in reverse. Suddenly a motorcycle roared past, a long brown trenchcoat and a stream of smoke trailing behind the tires. It squealed to a stop inches from Rogue's side of the car.

"Want a ride, chere?" he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette before flicking it away and leaning in her face. Kitty squealed with delight in the backseat.

"No," Rogue said.

"Rogue!" Kitty screeched, slapping her arm. "Take a ride on the motorcylce. That would be so…," she batted her eyes at Remy, "romantic."

Rogue snorted. "Would you like a ride, petite?" Remy said, grinning at the younger girl.

Rogue got out of the car, slamming the door pointedly behind her. She swung a leg over Remy's bike, hoisting her bag across her chest. The bike purred between her legs as she slid on, grasping the seat behind her for balance.

"How am Ah supposed to hold on?" she demanded. Remy swung the bike around, heading it towards the road.

"Put your arms around me," he replied, before gunning the motor. Scott did not look happy.

Scowling, he said, "Put a helmet on!" But Rogue barely heard him over the roar of the bike. She lurched forward and quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, ducking her head against his back to avoid the wind. He drove like a maniac, making sharp turns and speeding. She could feel the muscles ripple in his back and abdomen as he moved, navigating the bike. He turned his head to speak to her, his voice floating back on the wind.

"Enjoying de ride?"

She gloved hand to his ear, spreading the fingers to speak through them, so that she wouldn't accidently brush it with her lips. "No!"

He laughed, cocking his head back so she got a mouthful of his shaggy hair. She spat it out, as he wheelied the bike. She screamed and held on tighter, closing her eyes in fear. Why she had let jealousy spurn her to ride this demon machine with the devil at the handlebars was beyond her.

"Where are we going?" she asked. "This isn't the way to school." He turned and grinned at her, his mysterious eyes flashing. "Look at the road!" she squealed. She felt the laughter rumble in his chest.

"I'm takin' you somewhere special, chere."

* * *

"Focus Jean."

"I'm trying, Professor!" she snapped, her forehead creased. She stared at the white piece of paper, trying to read his mind. The walls were thick and high, and no matter how much she beat at them, she couldn't get through. "A christmas tree."

He sighed and put the card down so she could see the car on the front. She frowned at it, and rubbed her forehead, at the dull headache throbbing in her temples.

"What is the matter Jean?" he asked tiredly.

She didn't want to tell him. She was afraid. She feared her powers would spiral out of control again. That she wouldn't remember what she had done. That whatever was inside her, black and angry and smoldering below the surface, would take control again.

"I'm just tired," she said, staring at the card. How come she couldn't see the car on it. "Dr. Reyes is working me hard," she said.

A pleased smile crossed the Professor's face. "She has only wonderful things to say about you. She thinks you will make a great doctor," he added.

"Thanks for getting me the job, so that I could stay here and work on my powers," Jean said. "I think I'm going to go back to the lab, try to work off some exhaustion." She got up from the table.

_When you are ready, you can tell me._ He was shuffling the cards idly, his face not portraying he had thought anything to her.

_I know,_ she replied, walking out. _But will you be ready?_

* * *


	2. Sadness and Anger

Disclaimer: Marvel's. Do I have to do this for every chapter?

I just read Phoenix Endsong 4 and I am not happy. I like Emma, don't get me wrong, but I HATE her with Scott. It is wrong. It makes me want to eat razorblades just so I can vomit them up. So this chapter was inspired by it. Take that you stupid, bleach blonded, scum sucker.

Mush Warning...I couldn't help it. :)

* * *

"This is special?" Rogue asked, stumbling off the bike. She scowled at Remy as she rubbed her sore thighs. Remy just grinned at her, rubbing a hand across his sore ribs. She sure had a grip. And considering he wasn't the most careful of drivers…he wasn't sure if any of them were still intact. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

He had taken her on a little used path through the forest, a small area on the way to the high school. Branches had whipped at them as he sped through the dense trees. Snow began to fall, blanketing the ground and covering the bare limbs of the trees. It had wet her hair so that it curled where strands escaped her soggy ponytail. He also noticed how the snow kissed her lashes, causing them to star up. The chilly air didn't bother him so much, but he noticed her shivering. She only wore a thin black cargo jacket, so he slipped off his trench coat. She stared at it dubiously.

"Go on," he said, motioning for her to take it. It was still warm from his body heat, and it wrapped around her like an embrace, smelling of dark spice and cigarettes. He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the small, crumbling cabin. A pond was half frozen beside it, and he walked dangerously close to the edge. He pointed out a small, decrepit stone bench being devoured by ivy. She shook her head.

"It stinks."

"You stink, chere, but people still like you." She looked sideways at him. He merely wiggled his eyebrows. "Well, some o' de time."

"Har har," Rogue snarked, tripping over a branch. He caught her by the elbows, pulling her up with surprising strength. She blew a strand of white hair out of her eyes, glaring at him. "If Ah break an ankle…"

"I'll carry you home on my fait'ful stead," Remy said, turning towards the cabin and dropping her hand, "Come on. Dis is de place I go t'escape. It may not look like much, but inside.."

"This Ah gotta see," she said, stepping carefully on the sagging, worn stairs. The porch was a mess, with only one board still intact. Remy balanced easily on it, pushing open the creaking wooden door. He hopped across the threshold and extended a hand towards her. She took it, gingerly, and made her way into the small cabin. It smelled like must. Remy moved away from her and lit a small lantern, casting more light than the dim, dirty windows did. The cabin was pretty bare, a rocking chair, a table with three legs, a sofa with the cushions eaten by some small rodent. But Remy smiled and held the lantern higher, and her breath caught in her throat.

Even the Professor's library didn't have this many books. She moved towards the walls, which were just shelves. She ran her finger along the dusty spine. All the classics, she pulled down a book of Shakespeare.

"Shakespeare's sonnets," Remy said, peering over her shoulder. "Good choice."

"You read?" she asked, astonished.

"Apparently," he said, taking the book from her hand. "Dis one is my favorite." He cleared his throat and started

"Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest; But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest, By wilful taste of what thyself refusest." His voice was like dark smoke in the small room. Rogue found herself moving closer to him, unwillingly drawn by his sexy drawl.

The words were pulled from her, "I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief, To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes." She found herself dangerously close to him, their breaths mingling, her chest rubbing against him with every inhalation. The book hit the floor with a thud, forgotten, as he pulled her in his arms. She felt right there, went willingly, melted against him. She hated her treacherous body for begging for his touch, his gloved fingers feather light across her jaw, her cheek, his breath warm on her. She closed her eyes against the tears his gentle touch brought. He was murmuring to her in French, sweet, pretty words she didn't understand. She wanted so badly to be able to touch him. But she couldn't. She opened her eyes, a tear escaping and dripping across his fingers.

"Oh chere," he said, his voice thick. "Don't cry."

"Ah," she began, but the words were stolen from her as his lips brushed softly over hers. She felt the pull of her powers, but the moment was brief, so temptingly brief, and then he pulled back. His eyes glittered in the dim light.

"We should get goin'," he said, stepping back and distancing himself from her. She knew it was because he had felt it to, the tug of her mind on him. She wrapped her arms around herself and picked up the book. She went to put it back, but his hand on hers stopped it.

"Keep it."

"But…thank you," she said, tucking it in the pocket of her cargo jacket. She attempted a smile, but it was thin, watery. What she really wanted to do was bash his head in for playing with her feelings like that. She scowled at him.

"T'ank God," Remy said. "For a minute dere, I was worried you had forgotten how to scowl," he said.

"For a minute there," Rogue replied, already moving towards the door, the moment gone but not forgotten. "Ah thought you had manners."

* * *

Scott was mad. Madder than Hell. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but anger colored his cheeks, filled his head, fogged his vision. Rogue hadn't shown up for school, and he supposed that was what had started his mood. He felt a brotherly fondness for her, a need to protect her from wily, sneaky, Cajuns. But as the day progressed he had forgotten about it. That wasn't what had set him off.

He had come home to find them flirting. She was smiling at him, her brilliant eyes glowing at him. He was standing far too close to her, a matching smile on his face, eyeing her like she was covered her in barbeque sauce and he wanted to lick her like a rib. Her body had been turned to his, accepting his closeness. Then he had the audacity to turn to him and call him "kid." Jean's cheeks had colored, almost guiltily. For him being a kid. Logan had whispered something, his mouth far to close to her ear that had her blushing even more and casting her eyes downward, a wide grin stretching her face.

Laughing. At him.

He was madder than Hell. He had thrown a death look at Logan, but the effect was marred because of his glasses. He had stormed off, changed into his uniform, and went to the Danger Room to work off aggression.

He hated Logan. The man was a pompous ass. He strutted around like he owned the place, worse than the Cajun. He smoked his smelly cigars in the house, left his stinky clothes all over the place, and guzzled beer like it was going out of style. He was crass and rude and didn't handle authority at all. Of which Cyclops was his. Logan never listened in Danger Room simulations, preferring to go his own way and do his own thing and screw the team. Scott punched a robot, feeling the slickness of blood coating his knuckles. It felt good. He saw red, but then, it was no different than looking through his visor. He let loose with a succession of blasts, stopping the robots in crumbled, wiry messes.

What did Jean see in him? He was short and hairy and spoke with a rasp. He wore tight jeans and cowboy boots and let all his chest hair hang over his shirts. He smelled like a brewery. But she had smiled at him. A smile he had rarely seen sent his way. Jean deserved better. She deserved someone with at least a last name and a history that wasn't speckled and spotted and a contact of Emma Frost.

"Simulation Off!" he shouted, wiping sweat from his brow. It wasn't helping. It was just fueling his rage. The Danger Room shut down around him and he grabbed a towel and a water bottle.

He made his way into the hall, pausing only to rip his shirt off. He began to dry himself with a towel when he felt someone watching him. He turned, and Jean stood there, a dark look in his eyes as she stared at him.

He was beautiful. The most incredibly sculpted person she had ever seen. He wasn't too bulky, his frame slim and his muscles wiry, but roped and evident. Sweat gleaned on him, making his body shine. She lifted her eyes from his magnificent chest and caught him looking at her, his visor eerie in the dim hall light. He turned and strode to her with purpose. Her heart leapt into her throat at the look on his face.

He couldn't help himself. She shouldn't have looked at him like that. He grabbed her, molding her too him violently, all her soft places cushioning his harder ones. He wound a hand in her hair, jerking her head back, and then his mouth descended.

The breath slammed from her lungs at contact. His mouth was like wildfire, setting her on flames. He was forceful, almost bruising, his tongue forcing its way in and claiming her mouth. With a sigh she melted against him, loving the feel of his chest beneath her. She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers plucking at the damp curls at the nape of his neck. When she began to kiss back, he suddenly softened, his arms coming around her, his kiss less demanding. It was almost tender, his lips making slow, languorous love to hers, but the passion she felt pouring out of him was amazing. She felt something shift in her, something hot and black but she pushed it down. She wanted it to be Jean Grey here, kissing Scott.

He grabbed her lab coat, tearing it from her shoulders. His mouth descended on her neck, causing goose bumps to ripple along her arms. She pulled him backwards, into the room. He kicked the door shut behind him, his mouth never leaving her. She wiggled out of her lab coat, throwing it on the ground. She backed up against the table, then with a sweep of his arm, he cleared it, knocking down all her instruments. She didn't care. He picked her up and sat her on it. She leaned back; their bodies flush, wrapping her legs around his waist, never once stopping from kissing him.

Her mouth was amazing. Her body was like sin, as his hands roamed it, claiming it as his own. He couldn't think, so filled was he with the taste and scent and feel of her. She moved restlessly against him, trying to get closer. His hands slipped under her shirt, feeling the soft, cool skin of her belly. His hands were rough, callused, but she loved the feel of them on her skin, like streaks of fire.

The door opened behind them, and she heard a gasp, then a cough. Scott stiffened in her arms, pulling away. Jean sat up, her face as flaming red as her hair.

"Am I interrupting?" Logan said, scowling at them.

"Yeah," Scott said. Jean pulled her shirt down, hopping off the table. Scott turned to look at her, and wanted to take her in his arms again. Her hair was a mess around her face, her lips swollen and bruised from his, her neck scraped red from his stubble. She wouldn't meet either of their eyes, turning instead to pick up her instruments from the floor.

"What do you want?" Scott demanded, grabbing his shirt from where he had dropped it.

"You have a phone call," Logan said, turning and walking out.

Jean cleared her throat. "You should go."

He felt helpless. She looked on the verge of tears. She clutched a beaker to her chest, that had, mercifully, survived the fall.

"Jean," he started, then stopped. He merely scowled at her. It was one of the times he wished he were taller then her, so he could look menacingly down at her. But he wasn't. He had to be content with eye level.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "You started it."

"Me?" he demanded, rounding the table so she couldn't escape him, as she had been edging toward the door.

"Yeah, you barged in here while I was working and…and…molested me!"

"Molested you? You were the one raping me with your eyes!" Scott shot back, lunging out an arm to catch her as she tried to dodge away from him. "And you were the one who pulled me in here to have your evil way with me!"

She laughed. "You put the moves on me!" she shouted again. "If I were going to put the moves on you I'd….I'd….do this!" she cried, latching on to his head and pulling his head down. He caught the strange look in her eyes before she was kissing him again, and he couldn't think of anything else. Then she released him, looking smug with herself, a smile on her face, "That is what I would do if I were going to put the moves on you." She stabbed him in the chest with her finger for emphasis.

He growled at her and caught her up in his arms again, sprinkling kisses over her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her eyelids. She squirmed in his arms, laughter bubbling up from her throat. "Let me go, you brute!" she demanded, smacking his hands as they found her breasts.

"Say please," he teased, squeezing her breasts like he was honking a horn.

"You have a phone call!" she said, finally wiggling out of his arms. She held the beaker in front of her like a weapon. "I have work to do! Stop distracting me!" she demanded. He grinned at her.

"Can I help it if you can't keep your hands off me?" he said, coyly.

He laughed as the beaker crashed near his head.

* * *

So there.

I decided it is easier to write Shakespeare without accents. It's just me being lazy. But I came across this sonnet in my English class and thought it just went perfectly for Remy and Rogue!


	3. Pheromones and Propositions

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men. And I don't make a darn cent off of them either.

* * *

Jean was embarrassed. Pheromones had gotten the best of her. Pheromones and a sweaty chest. She groaned as she put her hands to her burning cheeks. She had never been more embarrassed in her life. She pulled her lab coat tighter over her body. Her treacherous, no good, betraying body. She growled, raking her hands through her hair. Something had to be done about this. She couldn't live her life in shame. She had to tell him it was a mistake. An incredibly nice, sexy mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. She sighed, rubbed her cheeks briskly, stood up, and straightened her shoulders. She was going to be a professional about this. A mature, older woman. She peeked her head into the hallway. Rogue was there. She hid behind the door until she passed. Mature. Right.

She marched to his room and knocked. There was a muffled reply and before she lost her confidence, she opened the door. The room was dark. The door slammed closed ominously loud behind her.

He had just gotten out of the shower. His hair was wet, falling in disarray around his face. Though his back was to her, he was completely, utterly naked.

Her jaw dropped. The man had the most magnificent, yummy, incredible, amazing, wonderful, stup-

"Jesus Christ!" He cried, grabbing a blanket from his bed and wrapping it around his waist. "Didn't you hear me say 'hold on'?" he demanded.

Her head snapped up from his but. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. She blinked a few times. He had a mole on his chest. Right above the left nipple. Her eyes followed a drop of water as it fell from his hair, running down the smooth line of his chest to his washboard abs, disappearing in a little trail of hair that led down to his…

Her face shot up, shining red.

"It was a mistake!"

He stared at her as if she had another head. "That's why you resisted?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean….You did it with your sweaty chest!" Another drop. She wanted to lick the trail it went down. "Stop it!"

"I'm not doin' anything!" He said angrily.

"Yes, you are!" Jean shouted. "Stop giving me those I want to sex you up looks!"

"You're the one who barged in on me while I was naked!"

"Well…you're the one who is naked! With me in your room!" He shook his head, rifling through his dresser. He pulled a gray t-shirt over his wonderful chest. She couldn't help feeling a bit sad. He grabbed a pair of boxers, than looked at her. "Don't mind me," she said. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth and pointed to the bathroom. As he moved in front of her she caught a whiff of soap. Did the boy douse himself in pheromones? His cheeks were pink. Her eyes drifted to his other cheeks…and the door slammed shut behind him.

She stood in the center of the room feeling like the world's biggest ass. She had to stop thinking about his ass. She stared at his room. It was still a mess. The bed was rumpled. She imagined him sleeping on it. She imagined…she grabbed a book off his nightstand. Shakespeare's sonnets? She placed it back down gingerly. It looked old, but as though it had been read recently. She began fiddling with his clock, just to keep her hands busy. The door to the bathroom opened.

"You were saying?" he said. She wanted to run her hands through his wet locks. What had gotten into her? She had been so controlled before. She had kept herself at a distance since Onslaught. Well, they all had. But she had never felt like this before. Flirting with Logan. Kissing Scott. She felt wild. Dangerous.

"Jean?"

"Huh?" she hadn't realized he had moved closer to her.

"Where'd you go?"

"Go? I was just thinking about earlier." Damn it! "I mean, how it shouldn't have happened." His face was void of expression. How did he do it? She felt like a little kid being punished. Maybe he'd spank her. She had to get away from him. "It was wrong. I'm sorry. We need to act like adults."

"Go out with me?" Her hair was a mess, like she had been running her fingers through it. It clung to her face. He wanted to run his hands through it, and rumple it as it was rumpled now. He liked the color in her cheeks, which was rapidly expanding down her neck.

"Huh?" Real educated Jeannie, she scolded.

"On a date." A date. Oh my god! Had she ever been on a date? Fish face again. "I'm getting to like that look on you." He smiled at her. She snapped her jaw shut.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because, you're bad for me. You are too young."

"Is that the only reason?" he asked.

"Yes. No! I need to focus on my career right now. And controlling my powers." She set the clock down. The alarm started going off and she rushed to turn it off. His big hands settled on hers as he deftly flipped the clock over and the ringing stopped. His hands were warm.

"But you are attracted to me."

"Yes, but just because I want chocolate doesn't mean it won't go straight to my thighs." Boy, did that ever come out wrong. He smiled at her. His face was too close. He had a way of invading her personal space. "I mean…you are too young."

"Are you worried about what they might say?"

"No."

"Is it Logan?"

"Logan?" she made a noise in her throat. "No."

"Then what is it? Age is only a number. You like me. I like you. Why can't we go out, enjoy each other's company, and see what happens from there?"

What could she say? He looked so endearing. So earnest. She gave into impulse and touched one of his slick, shiny locks. It was soft in her hand. He kissed her jaw.

"Yes," she said, sliding away from him. She rubbed her hand on her thigh. "Maybe if I go out with you, I'll get this insanity out of my system once and for all." He thought she looked awfully pleased with herself.

"Tonight. At eight."

"Past your bed time?" she said, smiling at him. Like she had smiled at Logan. His heart did a little flip.

"Why is it you always talk about sex with me?" he asked. He liked the way her mouth opened and closed, even as she turned and fled from him.

* * *

She lay on her bed, her face turned towards the open window. The breeze blew softly on her face. She loved the feel of it, cold and refreshing. She huddled under her blankets, a pile of used tissues in a pyramid in front of her. She scrubbed her nose viciously with a clean one, sniffling. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

She was a complete and utter idiot. She hated that smarmy swamp rat, with his demon eyes and his tousled hair and his annoying accent and his overbearing personality. Yet she had felt a connection, something in her that said, "oh…yeah." She sat up suddenly. He had charmed her! She kicked her legs off the bed, sending the tissues fluttering to the floor. She grabbed a sweater on her way out, covering up the tank top, and quickly pulled on a pair of gloves. She moved down the hall, anger building in her. She felt better. She felt alive again. Why mope about her powers? She wasn't tricking people into liking her!

She slammed her fist on his door, yelling his name. Piotr popped his head out of the door next door, got one look at her face, and slammed his door shut. She stuck her tongue out at him. Jean suddenly flew out of Scott's room. Her face was red. Her eyes were wide. She stared at Rogue. Rogue stared back.

"Scott asked me on a date." Jean blurted. She slammed her hands over her mouth.

"What?" Rogue said. Jean nodded.

"I've never been on a date before. What do I do? I have to cancel. I've gone insane. It's working in the lab. Too many chemicals. Is it hot in here to you?" She grabbed the handle to Scott's door. Rogue latched on to her arm and dragged her back.

"You are not canceling that date!" Rogue hissed at her. She lowered her voice and looked around the hall. "When in doubt…ask Betsy!"

* * *

"It's simple. To seduce a man, find a way to get naked."

"Betsy!" Jean gasped.

"Well, then his brain is so mushy he doesn't care if you babbled about your ex-boyfriend or your affinity for chili that gives you the farts." This was all said with a straight face, and a prim little British accent.

"I'm doomed." Jean said, her face in her hands. Rogue laughed.

"No, no dear. It's just…none of us have good relationship advice to give you," Storm said. "Back in Africa, if we wanted to…you know…we'd present ourselves to them in dance, sprinkled in nectar of the Miracle Bush and painted in mud. Then we'd…" she glanced around seeing the amused looks on the other women's faces. "Well I was a Goddess. If I wanted sex all I had to do was snap my fingers and men would grovel at my feet."

Kitty stared at her in awe. "Seriously, Ms. Grey, if you want to get in his pants just be yourself."

"I don't want to get in his pants!" Jean lamented. "I just want…it to go away."

"What to go away?" Rogue said. She was actually enjoying this girl's stuff. Popcorn, trashy movies in the background, cosmos spilled in front of them. She always pictured doing this with her teenaged friends, not a British ninja-assassin, a resident doctor, and ex-goddess, a girl time-displaced in the future, and a computer genius with a big, metal boyfriend. Kitty cast her a conspiratorial glance, glad to be included in this little "bonding" session, seeing as she was a year younger than Rogue. Rachel was sitting quietly, dangerously enthralled in the conversation. She had a secret smile on her face.

"I don't want to like him. He's too young."

"He's fresh meat," Betsy said.

"He's a baby!" Jean retorted. "It's like…slaughtering a little, innocent, baby lamb."

"That kiss today was anything but innocent," Rogue said.

"You know about that?"

"Bobby saw you and _everyone _knows about it. Why do you think Mr. Logan broke it up?" Kitty said. "He was jealous."

"I thought Scott had a phone call."

"Yeah, an _hour_ ago," Kitty said. "Mr. Logan has the hots for you too."

"_Mr. _Logan has the hots for anything of the opposite sex. Above teenaged years," she amended. "And I don't like him like that."

"He hasn't flirted with me," Betsy said. She was combing her hair with her sais.

"That's cause you are crazy," Rogue said. "And Warren's already threatened to take one of your ninja stars and jam it sideways up his colon."

"Really?" Betsy said, sitting forward, her Asian features alight. "Two men fighting over me. Do you think I could convince them to wear thongs and fight in oil?"

"Oh, gross!" Rogue said. "If anyone here is gonna oil up and rub themselves all over each other it's Jean and Scott. That's why you don't like Logan like that. You can see the sparks bouncing off Scott and you."

"Oh please," Jean said. Everyone else was silent. She looked around apprehensively. "Really?"

"If the sexual tension was any more palpable I'd rape you both myself," Betsy replied.

"What she means," Rachel cut in, "is yes."

Jean sighed. "I'm doomed."

"No you're not. If you like him, go on a date with him. What will it hurt? If you don't like him, tell him that. So he's a little young. Okay," Rogue said, at the death look, "he's seven years younger than you. But what will it matter when he's 29 and you are thirty-six? Or hell, when you're 69 and he's 62? So it's a bit of a gap now. No one here cares. Scott Summers is a hottie. A stiff, goody two shoes, but hot nonetheless. If I could touch him, you bet I'd rip my gloves off and have my evil way with him. Just to see if I could shake that icy demeanor of his."

"Well said," Storm replied. "Go out with him. Have fun with him. If nothing else, you gain a friend."

"You still need to get naked," Betsy said.

"No." Jean replied. "But I will need help picking out an outfit."

"Make over!" Kitty screeched.

* * *

Scott felt his stomach churn. His mind rebelled. He almost left… twice. But he managed to knock on the door. His mouth was dry, his hands were shaking.

"I need your help."

"Come in, mon ami," Remy said. He shut the door behind him. Scott stood awkwardly in his room. It was rather bare. It smelled like smoke. He coughed.

"Look, I know I haven't been the nicest to you," Scott said.

Remy cocked an eyebrow. "I'd say down right rude," he replied.  
"Okay. I've been…rude." Remy wasn't going to make this easy. Scott cleared his throat. "I'm….not proud of myself. I'm….your not that bad."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Remy replied.

"Sorry," Scott mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I'm sorry!" Scott shouted. "There."

Remy laughed. "No your not. But A for effort. So you need my help."

"Yeah," Scott said. He shouldn't have come here. "I have a date."

"Aaaand?"

"I need help with what to do. I'm a loser around girls. You've seen me. I need your help." Remy eyed him speculatively. "It's Jean!" he shouted.

"Well first t'ings first, is dat what you are wearing?"

"Yeah," Scott said, straightening his polo's sleeve. "Pretty snazzy, huh?"

"Non. Non, non, non. I refuse to work wit' anyone who looks like a teacher. And don't…EVER…say snazzy again."

"Is it that bad?"

"Oui." Remy rested his chin on his hand, staring intently at him. "You look about my size. A bit bigger in de shoulders. It should work t'ough." He turned to his closet.

"I'm not wearing a trench coat!" Scott said.

"I wouldn't let you," Remy replied. His pulled out a button up shirt. "Try dis on."

"What color is it?" Scott said, holding the soft fabric in his hands.

"Black."

"Oh." He pulled off his polo and pulled the shirt on, buttoning it up. Remy looked at him, and then shook his head.

"Makes you look to pale. Try dis-," he tossed him another shirt. "De lady at de store called it wine. T'me, it's scarlet." Scott put it on. "Perfect. What are you doing?" Remy demanded.

"Tucking it in."

"No, no, no, no!"

"No?"

"No. Dese."

"Are these…leather?"

"Yes."

"I can't wear leather.

"Yes, you can. Now put dem on." Remy faced the closet again and Scott pulled the pants on. "Lower on your hips."

"They are a little snug," Scott said.

"She won't be able to take her eyes off your butt." Scott smiled, thinking about her face when she had caught him naked. Maybe the leather wasn't so bad. Remy handed him a black leather jacket and a pair of black boots. "Dere."

"Are you sure about this?" Scott asked. Remy sprayed him with cologne, causing him to cough.

"Absolument. You look…magnifique."

"Where should I take her?"

"When is this date?"

"In…an hour."

"An hour!" Remy rubbed his head. "Dinner and dancin'. Dinner at La Petite Étoile."

"French? I can't order in French."

"Ask for Manuel. Tell him you are LeBeau's friend. He will take care of it all."

"Then?"

"Dere is dis club nearby called De Night Life. Dere is dis wonderful singer named Dazzler."

"Hey," Scott said, his face lighting up, "I have an idea. Come with me."

"I don't swing dat way, homme."

"Not with me. With me and Jean." He started to grin, "Take Rogue."

"Dis is your date. Don't drag me in on dis."

"You can help me! When I get stuck! Please, Remy. I…I really like her." Scott loosened his collar, suddenly uncomfortable. Remy stepped up and quickly unbuttoned the top two buttons.

Remy shook his head. "She'll kill me."

"She already wants to kill you. Tell her it's for me."

"Shouldn't you make sure it is okay wit' Jean?"

"She won't mind." How could Remy say no? He looked like an innocent little puppy. Like a little lamb. For a second, Remy wondered if his lip was trembling.

"Fine."

"Oh thank you!" Remy thought Scott was going to hug him. But the other man settled for a large smile.

* * *

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"But petite, it's for Scott."

"No."

"No?"

"N-"

"She means yes," Jean said.

"Excuse me?" Rogue demanded. She was standing in the doorway of Betsy's room, where the girls had moved to get Jean ready for her date. She glared at Jean. Jean merely smiled sweetly back at her.

"Yes." Jean replied.

"Okay, chere, see you in a half an hour."

"No!" Rogue cried, but the door had slammed in her face. "Why did you do that?" she demanded.

"You wouldn't let me back out of my date."

"Because you wouldn't go because of age. I can't _touch_ my date."

"Touching is just a sense, Rogue," Jean mocked. "Besides, it will help with the awkwardness."

"It's your date. You like Scott. Ah hate Remy. And besides, Ah have nothin; to wear."

Kitty opened her mouth to screech. "I do," Betsy said, cutting her off. "Now sit next to Jean. We don't have much time. Oh, for the love of God, go wash your face of first."

"Mah makeup is fine," Rogue said.

"No, it's not," Kitty replied. "Unless you're going to see Rocky Horror Picture Show." She snickered at her own joke. Rachel cleared her throat to stop from laughing.

"I was thinking a Rob Zombie concert," Storm replied. Rogue just glared at them all and went to the bathroom. She inspected her makeup, pale powder, dark eyes, and saw nothing wrong with it.

"Off. Now," Betsy said. She was standing in the door to the bathroom.

"Alright, already," Rogue said, running tepid water. She splashed it on her face and scrubbed it till it was glowing a fresh, healthy pink. She turned to let Betsy inspect her. Betsy grinned, but it wasn't a nice smile. Rogue almost expected to see fangs from her mouth. She followed her out of the bathroom and flounced in a chair beside Jean.

"This would be perfect," Kitty cooed, staring at a pink, fluffy thing. Rogue took one look at it and blanched.

"No pastels! And you," she said, jabbing a finger in Jean's direction, "are so going to pay for this." She dragged the finger across her throat.

* * *

Wen1: I agree- but don't worry, Wolverine will get what is coming to him. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

ishandahalf: Yay for yays! There are going to be a lot more 'sweet' moments and a lot more 'sexual' moments as well. I love 'em too, and their so durned fun to write!

Sanae: Wow, thanks! I was worried that ya'll wouldn't like it because it's a bit different pacing from my last one- but I hope to focus more on the characters in this one and less on the action.

4Rogue: I'm glad you are enjoying it and their is much, much more interaction coming up!

DiazF: Glad you like it!


	4. Downhill

Disclaimer: House of M stands for House of aManda...and now I own them all...hahahaha! Oh. What? It doesn't? I don't own them? Marvel does? What has Marvel done to deserve them? What? Created them? Oh. Sues anyone who tries to use them illegally and make money? Huh. Well, there you have it. The X-men are Marvel's and I am making no money.

* * *

If he had a knife, he'd put it right between his eyes. As it was, his spoon was looking awfully tempting, even shiny and dull and covered in gooey eggs. That was, if he had a chance to use it before the death looks Rogue was giving him did him in. He sighed, and weighed the spoon. Maybe he could just gouge his eyeball out with it. That would be painful and, god-willing, put a quick end to this catastrophe of a date.

Who knew she'd be allergic to roses?

"White lilies go for death. That go for roses too?" she said, when she had knocked them out of his hand. He hadn't helped matters, when he had first seen her, holding them out to her and dumbly saying, 'Flowers'. Nothing suave or sexy. Just 'Flowers', and drool coating the lapel of his worn leather jacket. Then he had stared, just as dumbly, at the petals on the floor as she had run back upstairs to change her gloves. Scott had smirked at him as Jean cooed over the chocolates he had given her. Scott. Smirking. At him. He had seen Jean and been all, "You look stunning." Remy expected him to say chere. But Jean had smiled. And then Rogue had trounced down the stairs, scowled at him, and threw his flowers on the ground.

It had only gotten worse from there.

Speeding ticket on the way to the Diner. Then, there reservations were messed up, and they couldn't get a table. They had ended up at Denny's, the only place that could fit them in on a Saturday night, at a booth behind a couple with screaming twins who were splattering egg all over the wall. Then, Remy had spilled the entire pitcher of orange juice on the table.

If only she hadn't been wearing a skirt.

He had never, ever, in his life been struck utterly dumb by a pair of legs. Clad in sheer stockings, they seemed endlessly long, pale white and smooth, muscles cording and bunching with each movement, elongated and accentuated by the high, black heels she wore. If only she weren't in that short, clingy black skirt that molded to her hips and thighs when she walked. Then maybe he'd be able to function like a normal, notoriously flirty, playboy. Instead he stammered and stuttered. And Scott was full of suaveness and finesse, steering the conversation until both girls were laughing.

"Then I said, 'No, I won't be leaving!'"

"No!" Jean said, snorting. Rogue looked slightly appalled as the oslder redhead snorted again, chortled, guffawed, and then broke into peals of high, loud cackles that had more than a few patrons looking their way. Rogue slid lower in the booth, her cheeks pink, even as Jean dissolved into that "I can't breath but I can't stop laughing", wheezing and gasping as tears slid from beneath her eyelashes.

Remy wanted to punch the smug look from Scott's face. He knew it was bad when it resorted to violence.

He was amazed at the amount of food Rogue could put away. She had finished her plate, and was now digging into what was left of Jean's. It was amazing that she kept in such good of shape. She munched on a piece of bacon with obvious relish. Amazing she didn't clog her arteries either. She scowled at him. "Problem?" she asked, through a mouthful of eggs.

He snatched a piece of toast from Rogue's plate. "Non."

"Hey!" she growled, "You ain't so good a thief if you get caught!" she said. He bit into her toast with an appreciative smile.

"But dat would take all de fun out of it, no?" he said. She scooped up hash browns with her spoon, and with surprising accuracy, flung them at him. He wiped them off his nose, munching happily on her toast. "Waste not, want not, chere," he said.

"Oh please! Can't you talk in anything other than cliches?"

He opened his mouth to say 'If you can't say anything nice', then closed it, opened it again, and said, "You look beautiful tonight."

She flung more hash browns at him.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Remy paid the bill and Scott fetched the car. Rogue stood next to Jean on the curb, shivering in the cool night air. Jean towered over her in heels, and looked absolutely exquisite. Rogue felt like a little girl playing dress up next to the slim indigo dress that fit Jean like a glove.

"Am I doing all right?" Jean whispered, once Scott was gone. She tucked a small curl that had escaped her French twist behind her ear. She looked nervous and worried.

"You are doing great. You are havin' fun, aren't you?" Rogue said. Jean's face relaxed, and she smiled a brief, if somewhat strained smile.

"Of course. It's been wonderful. I'm just so damn nervous." She ran shaky fingers across her hair. "How are you doing? Sparks flying?" Her eyes glittered as she looked at the younger girl.

"Um…no." Rogue said.

"Oh." Before Jean could elaborate more, Scott honked the horn at them, and Remy exited the building. He gallantly held the car doors for them, and then slid in the back next to Rogue. He crowded her a bit, enjoying the sweet, lemony smell that drifted up from her skin. She cleared her throat, inching closer to the door, but Remy stretched casually, draping his arm across the leather seat, stretching so that his knee grazed hers.

"Oh please," Rogue snapped. "There's plenty a' room over there," she snapped.

"But I would not want you to get lonely," Remy purred. She felt the shiver go up her arm at his dark, deeply sensuous voice. She looked out the window instead of melting into a puddle of mush in his lap.

"Where are we going?" Jean asked, anxious to break the tension that had infused the car.

"Dancing." Remy said. Scott nodded.

"I love dancing," Jean said. Rogue mocked her behind her back, curling her lip up in a sneer. She hated dancing. Half-naked bodies writhing against each other on a small, ill-lit, loud floor? Not for her, no thanks. Too much of a chance she could brush her skin against someone's. She rubbed a hand over her forehead, wishing this nightmare would end. She owed Jean big time for this fiasco. She pushed Remy's hand off her leg. His head dipped low, his breath tickling her hair over her ear. She wished she had insisted on more clothes. The emerald corset top left her cleavage and neck bare, covered by a black cotton cardigan that ended beneath her underarms and belled at the sleeves.

"D'you like dancing, chere?" he asked, his voice so low only she could hear him. Scott had launched into another one of his stories, Jean was hortling and cackling in the front seat.

"No." Rogue replied.

"Maybe dat's cause you haven't had de right partner," he said. He was just to close, his spicy cologne sending her sex hormones into hyperactive drive. His hand wondered to her knee, casually resting on the hose-clad appendage. She was horrified at her traitorous knee, as gooseflesh broke out on her leg, and her skin ached for his touch. His fingers began making small circles, sending chills up her body. She slapped at his hand with her glove, but he swiftly stroked it up her outer thigh, leaving a trail of fire where it had touched her. "Dere's plenty we could do wit'out touchin'," he said.

"Left or right?" Scott called back to them. Jean smacked his arm, hard.

"What?" Scott said, affronted, and rubbing his arm with his free hand. Jean made a noise in her throat and stared at him pointedly.

"Right," Remy said, the intimacy he had managed to create between him and Rogue broken. Jean glared at Scott, then offered a small, half-smile to Gambit.

Scott took the turn, Rogue stared out the window and refused to talk, and Jean made small conversation with Remy. They arrived at the club shortly. It was short, squat building, painted an awful shade of turquoise, with neon lights making large, colored splashes on the brick. Loud, pulsing music poured out of the brightly colored windows, and a line wrapped around the wall and spilled into the street.

"We are never going to get in," Jean said, even as Scott parked the car. She stood and wiggled to straighten her dress. "Wait a minute- can Scott and Rogue even get in?"

"Au contraire, petite, don' underestimate de power of de Cajun," Remy said, extending a hand to help Rogue out of the car. She smacked it away and strode towards Jean, arms crossed over her chest. She had officially perfected the scowl. Scott came around and offered his arm to Jean. She smiled at him and took it. Remy made the same gallant gesture to Rogue. She quirked an eyebrow and rolled her eyes, following Scott and Jean with her hips swinging.

* * *

"You are an idiot," Rogue said, sliding into the tacky, neon red vinyl seat of their booth. She rolled her eyes at Gambit as he slid in next to her, goofysmile on his face.

"How was I t'know dat Scotty looked t'young t'get in!" Remy defended himself.

"Ah thought you had charmin' powers," Rogue replied, wiggling her fingers at him, as if she herself were wielding some voodoo power. He smacked them away.

"You been immune t'dem all night, chere, I don't t'ink dey workin'." Rmey said. "Unless you suddenly find yourself impossibly, utterly attracted t'me an' want t'rip off your clothes and have your evil way wit' me?" He said, his voice almost pleading.

"Oh Ah'm havin' evil thoughts, sugar," Rogue replied. She stared around the cheesy bar with an amused look on her face.

"Why didn't you give him a telepathic nudge, Jean," Scott said. He was bummed that he was the reason they couldn't get into the club. Course, if he had had the cleavage to flash like Rogue had, they wouldn't be in this problem.

"That's a violation of a person's rights, Scott," she said.

"'Kay mother," Rogue said. "That just means you gotta go first."

"But…" Jean stuttered. Gambit smirked at her. Scott handed her the book.

Rogue quickly snatched it out of her hands. "Nuh uh sugar, we get t'pick it."

Jean rested her head in her palms. "I'm gonna mentally lobotonize you for this," she muttered. Rogue stuck her tongue out at her.

"Let's see I'm Too Sexy…."

"No!" Jean hissed.

"If You Think I'm Sexy?"

Scott shook his head. "That'd cause an uproar."

"Baby Got Back?"

"Flatter dan a pancake….um….not dat I'd know."

"Thanks," Jean said dryly.

"Just helpin', chere."

"Ah got it!" Rogue singsonged. "44."

"44?" Jean asked. "What are you trying to torture me with?"

"Oh, you're gonna love this!" Rogue said, writing the number down on the accompanying slip of paper. She waved it at their waitress, who was making her way over to them with their drinks.

"Alright, hon, I'll give this to the DJ. Give it 'bout a half an hour, Larry likes to run a little long when it's Saturday nights," the blonde said. She batted her eyes at Gambit. She bent over the table so her ample chest strained harder against the too tight top. She smiled, her shiny lips arcing into a pretty curve, batting her lashes blatantly. Rogue rolled her eyes and tried not to gag. "I haven't seen you before," she said. "I'd remember you." Her voice turned syrupy sweet.

"No, chere, I haven't been here."

"Ooo, an accent. Accent's make me hot."

Remy smiled, enjoying the brief flirtation. Even if the girl was a little brazen, she was curvy and pretty and at least responsive to his attempts. She smiled dumbly at him.

"Ah have a feelin' it don't take much to get you hot, now does it?" Rogue asked, her voice dripping saccharine as she smiled at the waitress. She grabbed her drink, draping her breasts across Remy's arm as she did so, sidling closer to him. The blonde didn't take the hint, or even notice the offense.

"Ah get off work in an hour. Maybe we could 'get off'," she eyed him suggestively and giggled at her pun. "What are you doin;?" Jean choked on her drink.

"Ah…chere…," Remy began. Rogue grabbed his face suddenly, turning it towards her and kissed him.

He felt the electricity between them to the balls of his feet. Her lips were soft yet steely, commanding his to open so she could sweep her tongue inside. It was over all too shortly, when he felt the incessant tug of her powers. Then she pulled away, smiled at the waitress, and said pleasantly, "he'll be doin' me."

The blonde sneered and stalked off. Remy sat, shell shocked to the booth, even as Rogue slid away from him.

"Um…what jus' happened?" he demanded. Scott's jaw was hanging slighlty askew as well.

"It's called a kiss, Cajun. Thought you'd figure that out by now."

* * *

"Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do?"

"Don't drink don't smoke, what do you do?" the crowd chanted back.

"Subtle innuendos follow, must be something inside! Goody two, goody two goody goody two shoes!" Jean finished with a flourish, sweeping her hair off her neck, a huge grin plastered on her face. Rogue sat with her chin in her hand, slightly awed.

"Only Jean could make bad eighties sound good," she said, when the applause had died down and she had made her way over to the table. Jean's cheeks were red and shining.

"That was fun!" she said, sitting down and taking a long sip of her lemonade. "You should try it," she said, a grin splitting her features.

Scott laughed. Then he stopped, looked at Jean, and laughed again. "Not me. I'm as tone deaf as I am color blind…one color, one note….and it's bad."

Remy sat back and grinned, "Not too much sounds good in dis accent, petite."

The looked pointedly at Rogue, who was making swirls on the table with the soda from her straw. She looked up. "What? Oh Hell no," she said. "Ah don't do karaoke. 'Sides they might not like Rob Zombie here. Ah have a feelin' Ah'd be lynched and mobbed." She looked around at the pretty blondes and their Abercrombie boyfriends with a big of a shudder.

"Party poopers," Jean said, turning to clap as another person took the stage. She turned back to the group. "So…I took the liberty of signing you up!"

"What?" Scott demanded.

"Not you," Jean said, resting a hand on his arm. "Them."

"Me?" Remy said.

"What?" Remy had to grab Rogue as she lept over the table. Jean was just laughing.

"You did it to me!"

Rogue sputtered indignitly. She blinked owlishly at the older woman, then turned to Remy and poked him in the chest.

"You did this!"

"What? I am a victim too chere!" He brought his hands up to defend himself against her poking.

"Ha!" Rogue said, poking him again. He glared at her. "You planned this!" She shouted.

"Next up….Rogue and Gambit!" The crowd began to clap and cheer. Rogue looked around for an escape.

"No way!" She hissed. "Ah am not getting up there!"

"Yes you are," Jean said. She tapped her forehead. "You can do this the easy way…or I can make you."

"That's cheatin'!" Rogue said, even as Remy's hand clamped on her wrist and began to drag her from the booth. "Ah'll kill ya!" she growled, but allowed herself to be led to the stage. The DJ looked happy. She wanted to take his microphone and jam it so far up his a-.

"Chere."

"What?"

"Look at me."

"Why?"

"Cause I don't want you killin' anybody."

"So you'd rather Ah kill you?" She asked. He hadn't let go of her hand. But they were on stage and she didn't want to make a scene. Or so she told herself. "Ah ain't singin' Celine Dion," Rogue added. The DJ handed them microphones.

He quirked a grin at her as the music started. Then his eyes widened and he shot a look at Jean.

"What is it?" Rogue demanded, turning to look at the screen. "Oh mah Gawd!" she shrieked. "Ah ain't singin' this!" The words started. The DJ stopped the music.

"I think they need a little encouragement folks!" he cried. Jean whistled loudly and began chanting their names.

"She doesn't know she's a corpse," Rogue said. Remy began to sing.

"Hey Lousiana woman!"

"Not you too!" Rogue cried as Gambit nudged her.

"This is embarrasin'. Mississippi man." She said into the microphone.

"We get t'get'er every time we can. De Mississippi River can't keep us apart. Dere's t'much love in dis Mississippi heart!" Remy crooned.

"Too much love in Louisiana heart," Rogue sang, monotone. Remy frowned at her.

"See de alligator, all a'waitin' nearby. Sooner or later dey know I'm gonna try," Remy sang, breaking away from her and playing up to the crowd. He shook his slender hips, encased in tight, faded blue jeans, and quite a few girls shrieked. "When she waves from de bank don't you know I know, It's a'goodby fishin' line, see you while ago!" He turned back to her, and took her hand, keeping it outstretched while he shimmied around her. "Wit' a Louisiana woman wiatin' on de ot'er side, de Mississippi River don't look so wide," he cupped her chin with a grin. "Lousiana woman…"

She rolled her eyes. "Missippi man."

"We get t'get'er," she had to laugh at the pitiful look on his face, as he used her arm to twirl himself. She joined in, "we get togethah every time we can…," she smiled evily and mocked him, "de Mississippi River cain't keep us apart."

"Dere's too much love in dis Mississippi heart," Remy sang, slightly off key. Rogue couldn't keep the grin off her face.

"Too much love in this Louisiana heart." Remy stood next to her, encouraging her to sing louder and the crowd to clap. "Well, Ah thought Ah'd been loved, but Ah never had, till Ah was wrapped in th'arms of a Mississippi man." Remy twirled her and she lost her balance, he caught her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She laughed and added more emotion in her voice. She wouldn't admit it, but she was beginning to have fun. "When he holds me close, it feels almost, lahk another hurrican just ripped the coast." He released her, twirling her out and holding onto her hand. "If he cain't come ta me, I'm a gonna go to him, the Mississippi River, Lawd, Ah'm gonna swim."

"Hey Louisiana woman!" Remy shouted.

"Mississippi man!" she shouted back, grinning at him.

"We get toget'ah every time we can, D'Mississippi river cain't keep us apart," Their voices, and accents, mixed with a rather surprising result, a soft, sultry sound.

"Dere's too much love in dis Mississippi heart."

"Too much love in this Louisiana heart."

"Well dat Mississippi River, Lord, it's one mile wide, And I'm a gonna get me t'de ot'er side," Remy imitated swimming, with a little theatrical gyrations.

"Mississippi man Ah'm a losin' mah mind, Gotta have yoah lovin', one more time," Rogue crooned to him, curving her finger and motioning him closer with a quirk of her eyebrows and a sexy smile on her lips.

"I'm gonna jump in de river, here I go," Remy jumped off the stage into the crowd. "Too bad alligator," he sang as a girl tried to pinch his butt. He ran through the crowd and jumped on the stage from the other side. "you swim t'slow! Hey Lousiana woman," he sang, his voice husky as he stared down at her with his demon eyes.

"Mississippi man."

"We get t'getha every time we can. De Mississippi river cain't keep us apart."

"There's too much love in this Mississippi heart." Rogue sang, cutting him off. Remy grinned at her and finished her line. "Too much love in dis Louisiana heart." He grabbed her hip and pulled her against him.

"There's too much love in this Mississippi heart."

"Too much love in dis Louisiana heart."

"Jean Ah'm gonna kill you," Rogue sang, grinning at her friend.

"Chere ain't from Louisiana," Remy sang back. The crowd laughed. "Too much love for dis mud pie," he shouted, closing his eyes as if he were putting all his emotion into the line, falling to his knees. Rogue rolled her eyes.

"Too much love for this swamp rat," Rogue retorted, pulling him up.

"Gonna dump her body in de Mississippi river!" Remy added, smiling at the crowd. They laughed. Rogue had to smile too, and found herself far to fond feeling for this Cajun and his voodoo eyes.

* * *

Yay! Update! Sorry its been so long guys! Goody Two Shoes is an Adam Ant song. Louisiana woman, Mississippi Man is by Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty. I thought it went perfectly with Rogue and Gambit...except she's from Mississippi and he's from Louisiana, and that's what led to that fiasco at the end! Hope you enjoyed it! More crazy fun date next...

Wen1: Glad you understood it better...let me know if you have any questions!

Fudgebrowne: More Romy and sex coming up...but first we must deal with those pesky powers!

Ishandahalf: Yay! Gold stars! Glad you find it so funny, it's so much fun to write!

Pixie: Glad you're happy about the sequel...I tried to see if I could get it in the C2 but I think it has to be rated PG-13, I rate mine R because of all the sexual moments I have in it...although it might not be :), thanks for the support though!

Jessica: No more wait!

Ingrid: I love the Jott too! Here ya go!

Off I go to write another chappie...I have some more evil and dastardly things to do to these two couples before I get them together...although Scott and Jean seem awfully cozy...hmm...


End file.
